In the forest, Reralt relaxed.

  He always felt most at ease in places where no one expected him to save, fight, or otherwise participate in tiring endeavors.

  The trees thickened as he rode deeper in, but Reralt was unbothered.

  He possessed exceptional vision—and even better hearing.

  As a child, the other kids had always agreed on that.

  Well… the ones who were ever seen again.

  "Out of shame," the chamberlain used to say,

  "You must understand, Reralt."

  And Reralt did.

  To unfairly criticize his clearly inhuman abilities was a sin that could never be undone.

  “A normal man would struggle to navigate these woods,” he declared loudly to no one in particular—

  as he continued down a nicely paved road,

  dappled with golden sunlight,

  its warmth just mild enough to flatter his cheekbones.

  ***

  On the side of the road, Reralt spotted a figure walking—a lady, just below her twenties, he estimated.

  “It’s difficult to see in such a thick, lush forest,” he thought to himself.

  No one else would have thought that. Ever.

  He slowed his horse and approached her with what he believed was heroic grace.

  It was indeed a lady.

  She wore a white dress, carried a small bouquet of flowers, and had tears streaming down her cheeks.

  Reralt was shocked.

  “Dear lady! What causes you such discomfort? How may Reralt be of aid?”

  The woman looked at him, slightly startled.

  Reralt assumed this was because no one else had ever dared offer help.

  The woman, on the other hand, thought the answer should have been quite obvious.

  She looked down at her white gown.

  Then at the bouquet in her hand.

  Then at the shiny gold ring on her finger.

  Then—back at Reralt.

  “What kind of spell are you under, dear maiden,” Reralt asked solemnly,

  “that renders you unable to speak?”

  It was clearly a powerful enchantment.

  He felt it in his bones.

  And more importantly—he felt it in his duty.

  This maiden needed rescuing.

  It was, after all, what people expected of him.

  Besides… he was already here.

  ***

  “Don’t worry, damsel!” Reralt exclaimed, pointing further down the road.

  “I think I see your captor!”

  The lady blinked.

  “Well—no, that’s my husband.”

  “Forced to marry him? Poor girl.”

  Reralt’s resolve hardened.

  This was it.

  A classic evil-enchantment-wedding situation.

  He would handle it as heroes do.

  Before the woman could object, Reralt spurred his horse.

  As he neared the man, he swung his leg to strike—aiming heroically for the head.

  He missed entirely.

  And kicked a tree instead.

  Agony shot through his shin. And his groin.

  And maybe his soul.

  He tumbled from the saddle like a sack of misplaced glory.

  The man blinked at the horse, then at the groaning knight on the ground.

  He assumed the horse had spooked.

  “Are you all right, good sir?” he asked, reaching out to help.

  “Yes, you evil sorcerer,” Reralt hissed, gripping the man’s hand.

  “There’s no escaping me now.”

  The man looked toward the woman—still standing fifty meters back.

  She shrugged.

  “Are you perhaps a friend of my dear Melissa?” he asked politely.

  Clearly an attempt to enchant him.

  Reralt recognized the signs.

  He slapped both hands over his ears and shouted,

  “A curse is no curse if the curse is not cursed!”

  He repeated the childhood line a dozen times:

  “A curse is no curse if the curse is not cursed!”

  Again. And again.

  Eventually, the man—mildly afraid and increasingly confused—decided it was best to just walk away.

  He turned and began heading toward his wife.

  ***

  That was when Reralt saw his chance.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  A moment of pure heroism.

  A sneak attack on an unguarded sorcerer.

  Quiet as a whistle, he crept after the man.

  The forest was thick, the shadows deep.

  With every few steps, the man glanced nervously over his shoulder—

  staring directly into Reralt’s eyes.

  “He can’t spot me in these forest shadows. Luck is with me today,” Reralt whispered.

  As he closed the distance, the man finally spoke.

  “Please, good sir, I really don’t know what your problem is… Can I help you with something?”

  “Release your bewitched captive!” Reralt bellowed, summoning the full might of his heroic voice.

  The man blinked.

  “My what? She asked me to marry her,” he said, chuckling—assuming this was some kind of elaborate prank.

  “Melissa, is this that uncle you told me about? You know, the one with the—”

  He never finished the sentence.

  The moment his back was turned, Reralt raised his boot and struck him squarely on the back of the head.

  Melissa screamed.

  The man stumbled, trying to turn, hands raised to shield himself.

  “Die, you evil enchanter! Die!” Reralt cried, striking again with all the conviction of a misunderstood knight.

  The man collapsed, groaning and bloodied.

  Without hesitation, Reralt unsheathed his sword.

  “No!” Melissa cried, rushing forward.

  He pushed her gently—heroically—aside.

  “Still under his spell. Don’t worry, fair lady.”

  His sword missed the man’s head by an inch.

  Without pause, Reralt brought his boot down and kicked the man unconscious.

  A sickening silence followed.

  Melissa stood frozen.

  Sobbing quietly.

  Kneeling beside her husband’s body.

  She looked up at Reralt, opened her mouth—

  and couldn’t find the words.

  Reralt took it for awe.

  Deserved awe.

  He nodded in satisfaction.

  “Another job well done,” he proclaimed, dusting off his hands.

  “Another maiden saved.”

  He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

  “Shall I escort you somewhere? Help you begin the healing process?”

  Melissa stared up at him, struck silent with disbelief.

  “No need to thank me,” Reralt said, mounting his horse.

  “Just remember the name—Reralt. Reralt of Givia. Tell it with pride.”

  Halfway to the road, something landed beside him with a dull thud.

  A bouquet of flowers.

  “Ah,” Reralt thought. “In the stories, they always throw flowers.”

  He picked them up, smiling.

  Then a heavy stone whizzed past, narrowly missing his head.

  It struck a tree with a hollow crack.

  “Hmm.” He paused. “They never mention stones. Perhaps an extra show of respect?”

  He picked that up too.

  Behind him, Melissa was running toward him now, screaming.

  “No, no—enough praise, dear lady,” Reralt said with a raised hand.

  He turned his horse and rode off, waving regally.

  Behind him, the woman screamed curses into the air.

  “To the evil sorcerer, of course,” Reralt said with a solemn nod.

  “Good. Get it out, girl.”

  ***

  Reralt proudly rode toward the pass ahead.

  “Two heroic acts in one day,” he muttered. “Reralt, this could be a glorious day if you keep this up.”

  He waved at passing travelers, expecting applause or at least a few reverent bows.

  Half of them didn’t notice him.

  The other half didn’t care.

  A small child on a hay cart clapped. Probably not for Reralt—but Reralt, generous in spirit, tossed him the bouquet anyway and took a bow.

  It hit the child square in the face, knocked him off the cart, and left him wailing in the dirt.

  “Awe-struck,” Reralt thought with satisfaction.

  As it should be.

  “He’ll never forget this day,” he mused, voice rising with pride.

  “Forever blessed—the day the mighty… RERALT!” he cried aloud, fists raised to the sky, “rode by and gifted him flowers.”

  As the mountain pass loomed closer, Reralt grew thoughtful.

  Would his deeds be remembered?

  Would future generations sing of this day?

  Yes… yes, perhaps it was time.

  He should hire a bard.

  as sung with confidence, despite multiple objections

  From the town our hero rode,

  Into a forgotten trail.

  In a forest dense and lush,

  He still saw clear as day.

  Yes, he still saw clear as day—

  Was not that strange, the sun shone bright,

  He still saw clear as day.

  There walked, clearly in panic,

  A maiden in despair.

  He could not do anything else—

  As help her, it just was fair.

  “Oh maiden, what’s with your wailing song?

  Can Reralt make it right?”

  The maiden looked surprised:

  “My lord, I’m wailing from delight!

  I just married the sweetest man—

  He walks there, you see?”

  Reralt heard the hidden text

  That no one else could see.

  No, no one else could see—

  The maiden was in misery

  That even she couldn’t see.

  “Don’t worry, maiden, I hear you!”

  Reralt charged the man in kind.

  The man went down, a sack of cloth—

  Struck his head from behind.

  Reralt saw the maiden running,

  Crying tears of happiness.

  “No need to thank!” he cried aloud,

  And thundered toward the pass.

  Another deed gone quite well—

  He rode up to the pass.

  Next… Reralt discovers a grasshopper.

  No wait— there’s a mountain.